In Your Arms Again (11 page)

“A
nother one?”

They were in her awful little parlor awaiting Lord Spinton. Did she never receive visitors in any other room? Perhaps she reserved this one for the callers she didn’t want to stay long.

North had arrived five minutes prior to the scheduled time. Spinton was now five minutes late. Obviously, Octavia chose not to wait for her tardy almost-fiancé to share the newest development concerning her mysterious love letters.

Octavia smiled at his incredulous tone. “If nothing else my admirer is tenacious.”

“Or obsessed,” North muttered, scratching his jaw. At first he hadn’t taken these notes seriously. Even when he agreed to investigate, he hadn’t thought the author
that
dangerous. Now he wasn’t so certain. The notes arrived with such frequency that the author surely must be plagued with thoughts of Octavia. Obsessed to be sure.

If he didn’t know better, he might suspect himself of being the culprit.

“Not to mention suffering from ennui,” Octavia added. “Sometimes I wonder if he has nothing else to do but write letters to me.”

“What makes you so certain it is a he?” Not that he hadn’t jumped to the same conclusion himself.

“A woman would have told me what she wanted by now.”

Good point. He extended his hand. “Give it to me.”

She held it to the bottle green muslin covering her breast, a patently sweet smile curving her lips. “Say please.”

North’s lips twitched at her provoking but he forced a scowl. “Do not bedevil me, woman.” He snapped the fingers of the hand held out to her.

“I shall do whatever I please,” she quipped, turning away.

“Why is it you only mean that when you say it to me?”
Damn
.

She stilled, her shoulders stiffening as she brought herself around to face him once again. All amusement was wiped from her cool features. “What do you mean?”

He had struck a nerve. Perhaps that had been his intention, but it was badly done. “Why do you give in so easily to others, yet fight me over the smallest detail?”

Her amber brows knitted. “I do not!”

“You do.” Nothing like poking that nerve with a sharp stick. Twelve years had passed since they had last known each other, and yet their behavior was almost exactly the same. She did what everyone else—even dead people—expected of her and yet wouldn’t allow him to see a bloody letter that he had been hired to find the author of. She even gave in to Spinton with less of a fight.

Slender arms folded beneath the softness of her bosom. “Perhaps because I know you will let me. You always let me win.”

“Not always.”

“Always when it mattered.”

Was she referring to that night? He gave in so easily to her coaxing, the gentle, fumbling persuasion of her trembling fingers. But he wouldn’t have caved so completely had it not been for the fact that he wanted to give in. She had to know that. He let her win because losing to Octavia didn’t feel like defeat.

She offered him the letter. “I suppose it is time for me to allow you to have your way for once.”

“Twice,” he said before he could stop himself.

She stared at him. The slight tremor of the paper in her hand was the only indication that she knew what he meant. He took the letter, resisting the urge to touch her fingers with his own.

“We should talk about that night.” Her tone was low and unsure.

North shook his head. “Not now, Vie. Not when the man who may or may not be your fiancé could walk in at any moment.”

She didn’t acknowledge his assessment of her relationship with Spinton. “Do you regret it?”

Did he not just tell her they would discuss this some other time? “No,” he replied with a sigh. Then, pathetically, “Do you?” “No.”

“Then any discussion about it can wait.” His tone was just as ruthless as his manner as he broke the seal on the missive. Red wax, embedded with the shape of a rose. Nothing special. He knew at least three abbesses and one opium den owner with the same seal—not to mention several ladies who had sent him invitations to very “private” meetings.

Tenacious, and possibly a little unsound. “You might want to tell Spinton to be on his guard,” he remarked as he handed the note back to her.
Octavia scanned the parchment quickly, her bright gaze wide. “Good Lord.”

“Notice the fine script of the handwriting. It only solidifies my suspicion that our culprit is upper class, and obviously someone who is aware of your relationship with Spinton.”

She met his gaze. “All of society knows of my relationship with Spinton.”

He simply watched her, letting the implications of that sink in. When they did, Octavia sank to the sofa with a frustrated groan. “It could be anyone. Any member of the
ton.
”

“Any male member,” he quipped. He wanted to comfort her but didn’t dare sit next to her in case Spinton chose that moment to arrive. “I will find him, Vie.” He couldn’t even keep Black Sally out of the way of a man whose identity he knew. How was he going to protect Octavia when anyone could be a suspect?

It didn’t matter. He would protect her, or die trying.

Her expression was resigned, but not unconcerned. “I do not want Spinton to get hurt.”

Oh, but he didn’t matter, was that it? Of course it wasn’t. He and Spinton were totally different people. He knew how to protect himself, what to do if he were attacked. Spinton did not. Perhaps he should have one of his men follow the earl just in case.

She nibbled on the edge of a fingernail. “I do not want you to get hurt either.”

That would teach him to be jealous.

“Is someone injured?” It was Spinton, dressed in blue and smelling of soap—the quintessential gentleman. He matched this little parlor with his elegance and coloring. Thank God the man’s timing was ludicrous, otherwise someone would have to explain why Octavia was so adamant about not wanting North to get hurt.

“Do not worry yourself, my lord,” North said, turning his
attention to the shorter man. “Lady Octavia and I were just discussing her concern that you be kept from harm at all times during the investigation.”

Spinton’s expression was one of pure surprised pleasure. He gazed at Octavia in such wonder that North almost felt sorry for him. Whatever Octavia’s feelings might be, Spinton wanted them to be more. North couldn’t blame him. He’d wanted the same thing once.

“Tonight, you and I will meet at Lord and Lady Haversham’s ball,” he instructed the still slack-jawed earl. “Then you will introduce me to Lady Octavia.”

“But what reason will we give for your continued presence?” Spinton asked as he regained himself.

North smiled calculatingly, his gaze slipping to Octavia’s. “That is simple.” Part of him wanted her to be shocked by his plan. Another part wanted her to rise to the challenge.

“I am going to try to steal your woman.”

Pretending not to know Octavia had been easy, especially when she was so obviously sincere in her wariness of him. Dancing with her, however, was a tad more trying. Certainly he wanted to project interest in her, but if he wasn’t careful the entire
ton
would figure out he knew what it was like to be inside her before poor Spinton had a chance to act the jealous suitor.

Holding Octavia felt like heaven. She was slender and warm in his arms, and he couldn’t help but remember how it felt to hold her this way, lying on his rumpled bed, their bodies naked and entwined.

That night had changed everything between them, just as this night was going to change things.

She ceased to be just his friend that night. True, he had thought of her in a sexual nature prior to that—what young
man didn’t think that at least once of any young lady he knew? But with Octavia it had been different. It was more than merely physical. Somewhere along the line he had fallen in love with his best friend. And he suspected that she had fallen for him as well.

And now here he was, holding his first love, his first lover, in his arms once more. It was only natural that some of those old feelings resurface. This tenderness and possessiveness he felt for her was understandable as well. After all, he hadn’t loved her just as a girl, he had loved her as a friend and a person. Aside from his brothers—and perhaps even more so in some ways—Octavia held the most special place in his heart. Even after all these years, he would give his life for her without a moment’s hesitation. He would do anything to ensure her happiness.

Even watch her marry a good-humored man entirely unsuitable for her. Even pretend that he wanted to steal her away. Although right now, it didn’t feel like pretending.

Worse yet was the guilt. What was he doing at this stupid ball when a killer walked free? What right did he have to dance and enjoy holding Octavia when Harker was out there laughing at him? Black Sally had been his best chance to nab the bastard, and now she was gone. Her death was North’s fault. He should have had more men watching. He shouldn’t have put poor Harris out there alone. He had thought the boy could handle it. He should have known he would be no match for Harker’s henchmen. North should have been the one watching Sally. He should be trying to avenge her death right now, instead of chasing a lovestruck nobleman.

No one but a madman would give this case precedence over putting an end to Harker’s criminal career. And yet here he was, dancing under the brilliant chandeliers while Harker enjoyed one more night of freedom. He told himself that Oc
tavia’s admirer could be dangerous, unsound, and a real threat. Did he believe it? Sometimes. His mind didn’t always do what he wanted it to.

Had his reason and sense left him completely?

At least those present at the ball were reacting exactly as he wanted them to. They’d watched him meet Octavia and then witnessed his interest in her. If rumors hadn’t started yet, they soon would. How could they not? In a gown of shimmering cinnamon silk, Octavia was stunning. How could he possibly look at any other woman? And Octavia, to her credit, seemed equally enraptured with him, although he did not allow himself to wonder why. It was just a ruse, nothing more.

“People are staring,” he informed her, guiding her through a turn. Of course he had chosen the waltz for their dance. It was still scandalous enough to cause a stir.

She smiled up at him, as though he had said something particularly flattering. How easily she fell into the charade. “Is that not what you wanted?”

“Yes, but it makes it rather difficult to talk.”

“Talk?” Her eyelashes fluttered. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

She was teasing. She loved to tease him. Always had. “What are you going to tell Spinton when he realizes you are not a virgin?”

Shock registered in her eyes, but not her expression. “This is not the time nor place to ask such a question.”

They glided through another turn, their steps perfectly matched. “You plan to conceal it from him then?”

Her expression remained pleasant, but her tone was pure ice. “Of course I do.”

“What if he figures it out?” There he went with that stick again. Just as when they were children and he had that odd
compulsion to pick on her until she either picked back or cried. He hated it when she cried.

“He will not.”

“How do you know?”

Her cheeks flushed but her tone was even and low. “Because I am fairly certain he has no idea what is involved in taking a woman’s virginity.”

That could be possible. Not many men of North’s acquaintance, unless they were married, had much experience with virgins. Debauchery wasn’t looked upon very highly in most circles. Aside from Octavia, all of North’s bedmates had been experienced women. Perhaps he was in a minority, but he wanted his lover to enjoy their time together, not fear it.

“If he does figure it out, are you going to tell him it was me?”

Her gaze brightened and a smug smile curved the voluptuous bow of her lips. “You are jealous.”

“I am not!” Now who was being poked?

“You are. You are jealous of Spinton. Are you perhaps afraid he might prove the better lover?”

He scowled. She was so smug. He hated it when she picked back as well.

“Oh, Norrie,” she said, shaking her head, “it is nothing to be ashamed of. I suppose it is only natural given our friendship and our history. I imagine I would feel much the same way if confronted with the woman you planned to marry.”

The thought gave him some satisfaction. “I doubt you will ever experience such a meeting.”

Her skirts fluttered around his legs as they twirled yet again. “Why not?”

“Because I have no plans to marry.”

The delicate skin between her brows puckered. “Do not be silly.”

Silly? It was plain common sense. Couldn’t she see that? “Any woman who marries me will be putting herself in harm’s way by nature of my work. What woman would do that?”

“One who loves you.”

His heart tripped at her words. “But would a woman who loves me be content to sit back and watch me put myself in danger time and time again? I could not ask her to live that way.”

“You could give up your career.”

He smiled. It felt somewhat bitter. “Ah, but then I would have to love her more than I love my career, and I have yet to meet such a woman.” His answer might have been different twelve years ago.

There was nothing but sympathy in her cobalt gaze, and he didn’t like it. “You may someday.”

He humored her. “Perhaps.”

“You deserve to love and be loved, Norrie.”

“So do you, Vie.” He left the rest of his thought unspoken.

She sensed it anyway. Of course she did. She knew him better than anyone. “Spinton is a good man.”

“But you do not love him.” Poke. Poke.

Octavia shrugged. “That rarely matters in society. Besides, I like him very much.”

“He might not find that a fair trade for his devotion.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone. What man could content himself with “like?”

She sagged a little in his arms, as though she were suddenly very tired. It was a gesture of defeat, and he didn’t like that either. “What do you want from me, North?”